The Dead Hate The Living
Darkened Nocturn Slaughtercult
Impending upon the path
Leading to where eternal sleep dwells
Is the feeling of mighty perfectibility
Dismal, dreary like the universe
Beautiful like suicidal adoration
Reach for his scraggy claw
For upon earth the accursed dwell
Nonentity will swell up with infinitude
Mortal putrescent debris vestige of self-destruction
Away from this wobbling ground
This path leads to unknown spheres
Away into aeons
Abscondence of existence
As grave as the air, the spirit rests anxiously
As resounds in the distance a prolonged howl
Lamentations dragged from place to place
By funeral winds!
When this earthly body in misty billows resolves
Life is an illusion, only death is real
The dead hate the living
Merely silvery shine in darkness shall coruscate
Whilst winds embed this spirit's vibrancy
Once it has abandoned vivaciousness
This sound which shall be heard for evermore
In every funeral bell
